Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  “OK, in that case, I wrote my cell number down so you can call if you have any trouble with the power or anything. You sure you’re good to drive? How many drinks have you had?”

  “Just one.” She wasn’t drunk. Now that his sisters’ interrogation was over, she felt entirely sober. But she wasn’t good to drive. She didn’t like that damn snow. It was freezing cold and slippery out there and she was wearing high-heeled Christian Louboutin boots. Obviously Grant had never tried to navigate a snowy sidewalk in fifteen-hundred-dollar boots. But then again, that wasn’t his problem either.

  “I’m fine to drive. You have a good time with your family.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for coming. Drive safely.” He squeezed her shoulder, like a roommate, then turned and walked away, nudging the cuff farther up his tanned forearms.

  But damn, if she didn’t feel dumped.

  She shouldn’t feel dumped. That was stupid. This wasn’t a date. He wasn’t even telling her to leave. He just wasn’t insisting she stay. Maybe asking her to dance would have been a nice thing, though. Or getting her a drink? She looked around, suddenly feeling entirely awkward. The women from the bar had moved to the dance floor and were wiggling their asses like girls gone wild. Any moment now one of them was bound to have a wardrobe malfunction. A couple of the groomsmen had taken off their shirts and were wearing their tuxedo vests over bare chests. Neckties were long gone, or tied around heads like ninjas. This party was in full swing, and now being the invisible girl wasn’t nearly as fun.

  “You don’t look like Jeanine Baxter from the news,” the wedding planner said, popping up over her shoulder like a prairie dog. She hadn’t even realized he was near her.

  “I don’t?” Her voice was pensive as she watched Grant’s retreating form disappearing into the crowd.

  “No, Delaney Masterson,” Fontaine whispered into her ear.

  She whipped her head around and watched as an expression of victory spread across his face.

  “Hah! I knew it!” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to a secluded corner. “You are her, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes you are. I am a master of subterfuge. I sniff out scandal the way a pig snuffles truffles, and those hideous glasses on such a pretty face were a dead giveaway.” He kept his voice low, glancing around furtively. Delaney looked around too, for an exit. Her heartbeat was so fast and shallow it vibrated in her chest. Leave it to the gay man to out her.

  “Your secret is safe with me, cupcake,” he whispered. “But I must have all the yummy details.”

  “There really aren’t many details,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Oh, there must be. I live for that sort of thing. Let me guess. You’ve been having a torrid affair with Grant Connelly for months and came here to meet the family, but you’re keeping your identity a secret so they won’t realize you’re the wildly infamous Pop Rocks girl? Right? Am I right? Oh my God, that is so fucking adorable.”

  “No, God, no. It’s nothing like that. Please, Fontaine, I know you have no reason to cover for me, but I’m asking you to anyway.” Oh, this was awful. Of all the people to figure her out, there was no way this man would keep her secrets a secret.

  His excitement turned to crestfallen despair, like an impersonator changing identities. He drew in a sharp breath and covered his mouth with a slender hand. “That’s not it? Then is Grant the father of your secret baby and you came here to tell him? Oh! Trust me, girlfriend, we will all support you—you and your little Connelly bastard.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted, shocked, or beholden. “I’m not pregnant.”

  Fontaine grabbed at her wrists again. “Holy bejebus, is he blackmailing you? Oh my gosh, that’s it, isn’t it? There’s another video and he’s threatening to release it. Grant Connelly is a cold-hearted scumbag.”

  “No!” she said, her voice far too loud, but with the music blasting, no one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to them over in the corner. Thank goodness for that. “Listen to me, Fontaine. Can you do that?”

  Seriously, could he do that? Because this little wedding planner had a crazy gleam in his eye and there was just no telling what he might do next.

  “Yes, I’m listening.” He nodded and took a deep breath.

  Given the complicated and convoluted stories he’d come up with on his own, it seemed going with the truth might be her best option now.

  “Grant has no idea who I am. He thinks I’m Elaine Masters, a soap maker from Miami. It was just dumb bad luck that I ended up at his house. I’m in Bell Harbor hiding from the paparazzi until all the fuss dies down about that stupid video, and I’m desperate to keep my identity a secret.” At least for a few more hours, until she’d had time to get back to the crooked little house and pack her bags. Now that one person knew who she was, it wouldn’t take long before everyone knew. So it was time to leave town.

  His narrow shoulders slumped. “That’s it. You’re hiding from the paparazzi?”

  He seemed quite deflated. Maybe she should have said she was a time traveler, or an alien. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s it.”

  He sighed with disappointment. “No blackmail? No secret baby?”

  “No. Sorry. Just a sex tape. But will you keep my identity a secret anyway? It would mean the world to me.” This time it was her squeezing his hands, pleading, even while knowing he’d never be able to keep this to himself. He was already bursting at the seams for want of someone to tell, but after a moment’s silent deliberation, he smiled, showing off unnaturally bright teeth. “Of course I’ll keep your secret. I am the soul of discretion.” He held up his right hand. “May I never again see a shirtless picture of Channing Tatum if ever I reveal your true identity.”

  She felt the briefest hint of relief, but shirtless Channing Tatum notwithstanding, she was fairly certain that half the wedding reception would know her real name before she could even get to the door.

  “There is a price for my silence, of course,” Fontaine added.

  Of course there would be a price. There was always a price. “What do you want?”

  “Two things. First, you must dance with me because I should very much like to shake my groove thing, and second, promise me you will never, ever wear that ugly sweater ever again.”

  Chapter 9

  “ELAINE?” GRANT STEPPED THROUGH THE door into the kitchen. The sun was shining for the first time since he’d been back to Michigan and it buoyed his spirits as much as spending time with his family had. He’d clearly been forgiven for his extended neglect, and his brother and sisters had stayed up with him until almost dawn, joking around and sharing stories, as if they were all trying to make up for lost time. Even Carl was there, and other than his insistence on making everyone try a sloe gin fizz, Grant realized he was a damn likable guy. Life was looking better. Coming home had been a good decision.

  “Hey, hello?” he called out again.

  Elaine appeared around the corner wearing dark jeans and a clingy pink top that made his hands go sweaty and his pants get tight. He’d been sorry after she’d left the reception last night. She’d danced with the flamboyant wedding planner a few times and then vanished before he’d had a chance to cut in. Of course, she’d done him a huge favor by going at all, so he could hardly expect her to stick around listening to his relatives talk about crazy old Anita Parker and the cat that had eaten her parakeet.

  Elaine set her brown backpack on the floor next to the kitchen table. “Oh, hey. I’m glad you made it home before I left.”

  He looked past her into the living room and saw a suitcase. He quickly rewound last night in his head to think if he’d said or done something offensive but came up empty.

  “Left? Where are you going?”

  She dropped her phone into the bag. “Um, I’m not sure. Just somewhere else. It’s too cold here.”

 
“Somewhere else?”

  That must be relief in his gut, right? Relief he’d finally have the house to himself? Because it kind of felt like he’d gobbled down a big bowl of dog food. Kibble = not good. “I don’t understand. What about the money we owe you?”

  Her expression was enigmatic, her shoulders barely moving with the world’s lamest shrug. “We said this was a short-term solution and it’s been a couple of days, so I figured I should move on. I guess I’ll be in touch and tell you where to send the money, if you ever get it back.”

  “Of course I’ll get it back. I’m not just going to keep your money. Elaine, what’s wrong?”

  Oh, Lord. Why was he asking her that? He knew better than to ask a woman what was wrong—because somehow it would end up being his fault. Even if every aspect of her mood was beyond his knowledge or control, it would still end up being his fault—because he had testicles. Whenever a woman was annoyed, somehow it always came around to the Y chromosome.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is fine.”

  Sure, she said fine, but he also knew that when a chick said fine, what she meant was Here, hold this hand grenade while I poke you with a sharp stick. He rewound last night again, but still . . . nothing.

  Something here didn’t add up. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Everything is fine, and you’re not sure where you’re going, but you’re going to just . . . what? Get into the car and drive? Seems like you might want a destination before you hit the road.”

  Why was he arguing with her? He wanted her gone. Didn’t he? Yet his frustration was as palpable as it was inexplicable. She wanted to go, he should just let her go, but that felt like losing and he didn’t like losing.

  She reached up and adjusted her earring, a look of uncertainty passing over her features. She wasn’t wearing her glasses today. Her eyes were bright in the sunlight, but overall, she looked . . . sad?

  “Listen,” he said, “go out to lunch with Scotty and me. He has to leave for the airport in a couple of hours, but we were going to go hang out at Jasper’s until then. If you’re not even sure where you’re going, there’s not much point in hurrying, is there?”

  The corners of her mouth tilted. “I am sort of hungry.”

  “Good. Put your coat on. The least I can do is buy you lunch after dragging you to a family wedding.” He pulled her coat off the hook and handed it to her. “Come on. Scotty’s impatient.” And so was he. Impatient to understand, and impatient to make her stay.

  She looked at him for a minute, and he thought she was about to tell him no. Then she chuckled and slid her arms into her coat.

  Scotty dropped them back off at the little lavender house with the crooked roof a couple of hours later. Delaney said her good-bye and then went inside so the brothers might have some privacy. It was snowing again, the sky back to gray and splotched with dark, heavy clouds. It was too late to leave today. Maybe she’d go in the morning. Or maybe she’d give the whole situation a little more thought.

  Lunch had been fun, and although everyone in the restaurant seemed to know the Connelly brothers, no one seemed to know her as anyone other than Elaine Masters. Maybe Fontaine had kept his promise. Who knew shirtless Channing Tatum wielded such power? Well, realistically, who didn’t know that? So, all things considered, maybe she’d be safe here for at least a few more days.

  A plastic-wrapped plate of wedding cake sat on the kitchen table with a square yellow note on the top. Delaney leaned over to read it.

  Enjoy the leftovers—

  Mom

  Delaney chuckled to herself. If there was cake, she should definitely stick around another day or so. She picked up the plate and put it in the refrigerator because the only thing better than wedding cake was cold wedding cake. Then she hung up her coat, reaching into the pocket for her phone before remembering she’d dropped it in the backpack before leaving for lunch.

  Grant came in behind her and a gust of icy air surrounded them.

  And then another chill nearly knocked her to her knees . . .

  “Where’s my backpack?”

  Grant hung up his coat. “What?”

  “My backpack. I left it right here on the kitchen floor before we left for lunch.”

  He looked around, unfazed, then started to take off his boots. “You must have put it someplace else.”

  No, she hadn’t put it someplace else. She’d left it there on the floor next to the table. She rushed around the kitchen, nerves churning. She went into the living room, propelled by her agitated pulse. Her suitcase was there, right where she’d left it, but no sign of the backpack—or her money, or her phone, wallet, or laptop. Everything was in that bag because she’d packed it up to leave. She raced up the stairs, heart pumping faster than her legs moved, like she was jogging underwater. The bag wasn’t in her room or her closet. It wasn’t in the bathroom.

  “Did you find it?” Grant called up the stairs just as she came racing back down.

  “No, I didn’t find it. I told you, I left it right here in the kitchen. I remember because I dropped my phone into it before we went to lunch. Grant, all my money was in there. All of it.”

  A frown started to form on his face. “Well, it has to be here somewhere.”

  They looked in every nook and cranny, every closet and cabinet, leaving behind a little piece of Delaney’s spirit in each one because that backpack was nowhere to be found.

  “Somebody must have taken it,” she said. “You know that back door never locks properly. Call your mom. Maybe she saw something suspicious when she dropped off the cake.”

  “What cake?”

  “Your mom dropped off leftover wedding cake while we were gone. I put it in the fridge. Grant, I just don’t understand this. Who could have taken it?”

  Delaney looked around the living room, hands fisted by her sides as Grant opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. She leaned over an easy chair to peek behind it. “Do you think they took anything else?”

  He came into the room and sank down on the sofa. Lines formed on his forehead and she noticed he looked more exhausted now than he had the night they’d met. Even his voice sounded tired.

  “Elaine, there’s a slight possibility I might know who took it, but I’m not sure if that’s good news or bad,” Grant said.

  “Tell me.”

  He clasped his hands and steepled his fingers. “My mother sometimes has a tendency to . . . help herself to things that aren’t hers.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Maybe. If she dropped off the cake and saw that bag, well, it’s possible she took it.”

  “Then you need to call her. Right now, and tell her to bring it back. I’d do it myself but she has my phone.” She couldn’t keep the sharp edge from her voice, and why should she try?

  He pulled his from his pocket and dialed, staring at Delaney the whole time.

  This was crazy. How could Donna think she could just take that money without getting caught? That was the first, and most important, question. Delaney’s next question was whether or not Donna had looked inside and had found the wallet full of identification. It was stuffed down deep, underneath all the money, but that would make two people in Bell Harbor who knew who she was. Delaney sat down and squeezed her hands together between her knees. No matter what, this was bad.

  “Voice mail,” he said, then left a message. “Mom. It’s Grant. I need to talk to you right now. Elaine’s backpack is missing and I have to wonder if you know something about that. Call me immediately.”

  He dialed again as Delaney waited, her stomach doing the cha-cha-cha.

  “Carl, it’s Grant. If you’ve seen Mom, call me. Actually, call me if you haven’t seen her either. Just . . . call me. It’s very important.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “God, Elaine, I’m sorry. Maybe I’m wrong and it wasn’t her. You’re right about that bac
k door. We should probably call the police.”

  “No!” The word was half shout, half squawk, followed by a hiccup. “No, let’s not call them until we’ve talked to your mom. I mean, if it was her, you don’t want the police involved, do you?”

  “No, of course not, but mostly I don’t want your money to be stolen either. How much was in there?”

  She tried to swallow down the next hiccup. “Around forty thousand.”

  “Dollars?” Now his voice was a half shout, half squawk. “You were driving around with forty thousand dollars? My God, I knew it was a lot, but I had no idea it was that much. Why would you travel around with that kind of cash? That’s crazy. Why not just use a debit card?”

  Delaney pressed her thumbnail against her lip. No easy answer there. She’d wanted to use cash so no reporters could track her down by credit card use, but she couldn’t very well explain that to him. Or the fact that she’d had no idea how long she’d be away from Beverly Hills. People lived modestly in this town, but where she was from, forty thousand dollars would last about three months. “I told you, I took all my money out of the bank when I left Be—um, Miami. Cash just seemed . . . easiest.”

  She needed to pull herself together before she accidentally told him all of it, but she was frantic to get that money back. First, because she needed it, and second, because of all the things that could go wrong if Donna discovered who she really was. The media would have a feeding frenzy and this whole clusterfuck would end up as another episode of Pop Rocks. It wouldn’t just be her life that would be impacted, but Grant’s too. His whole family could be dragged in, just like hers had been dragged into the video scandal.

  Grant leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He sounded as if he might be hyperventilating just a little. She certainly was.

  “All right,” he said breathlessly. “Let’s head over to my mom’s house. Maybe she’s there, or the bag is, or both. Unless you want to call the police, I don’t know what else to do.”

  Carl met them at the door wearing his blue fuzzy bathrobe. “Why, hello. May I interest you in a sloe—”